That guy was the spy.

And that was when Aroche realized—ah, he’d officially lost his edge. Couldn’t even sniff out a spy now? He scoffed at the book like it personally betrayed him.

But his jaw was tight. Feeling weaker than he used to was whatever. But failing to spot danger when Burn was within arm’s reach? That was humiliating.

He shut the book with a snap and got up.

“Where are you going?” Bella immediately activated Dramatic Mode, glaring at him.

“Scoot over.”

Bella blinked. “Huh?”

“Oh, you had the guts to seduce me but now you’re scared of a little proximity?” Aroche said dryly, sitting on the edge of the bed and motioning like he was the one making room.

Bella, clearly glitching, stiffly shifted aside and watched him slide under the same quilt like it was no big deal. Something had changed—he wasn’t flustered anymore. Not even a little.

His mood shifted, aura off. She now felt alarm bells ringing in her head.

He rested his head on the pillow.

“You know that what I wanted to say to Burn was important. You saw them shoo me away, and you took their side. What exactly were you playing at, hm?”

Bella’s brain did a screeching halt. Sure, he was playing along the act now—but why did he sound like…

“I mean, since we’re sharing pain and all,” she began, trying logic, “I just took the chance to remind you—”

“You’re always taking Burn’s side,” Aroche cut in, glaring like she just kicked his pride. “What, a man can’t be jealous now?”

Bella.exe stopped responding. Okay. Okay, she knew this was just part of the act to mislead the spy. She knew. But why did he sound so… illegally sexy?

“We’re just worried about you!” she snapped, offended and confused and blushing at the same time. “Is it so wrong to care if you feel like you’re dying every morning?”

Aroche sulked—because yes, apparently men do that too—but his version was more “stormcloud about to explode” than “pouty schoolboy.”

“Oh, so now that we’re connected, you just had to keep tattling to Burn every time I so much as flinch?”

Bella sat up, about to throw hands and logic. “Well maybe because someone refuses treatment stubbornly! Even I don't like that kind of person!”

“Oh, so your babysitting duties come straight from that bastard and your dad, huh?” Aroche growled.

“Yes! Of course they do!” Bella fired back, scandalized. “Because His Majesty is worried! Because Her Holiness is worried! Because my father is worried!” She threw up her hands. “Why are you like this?!”

“What about you?” Aroche shot her a look so sharp she nearly rolled off the bed. “Would you still give a damn if you couldn’t feel my pain too?”

Panic. Immediate panic. Bella was internally combusting. This man—this man—!

“H-hmph!” she huffed, spinning around and flopping away from him under the quilt like a petulant cat. “Why does Dad even like you, anyway…?”

“How should I know why your dad likes me?” Aroche muttered, tone flat with manufactured annoyance. Of course, the small, stupid smile tugging at his lips completely ruined the act.

“Probably has nothing to do with you,” Bella huffed, still facing away. Then, under her breath—not even caring if he could hear—she mumbled, “Shouldn’t have rigged the rock-paper-scissors game…”

And just like that, Aroche felt it again. That damn blush. Creeping up his face like it paid rent. Still, at least this time it didn’t make him feel like combusting on the spot.

At first, he’d chalked Bella and Vlad up as the typical flavor of eccentric—supernatural beings with enough emotional baggage to fill a cathedral. Born too powerful, too isolated, too… extra. They had to keep themselves on the tightest leash imaginable. Even tighter than werewolves, and those guys were already one bad Tuesday away from going feral.

The monster in them never really left. It just sat there, politely sharpening its teeth in the background. Bella coped by moonlighting as some unholy vigilante for the worst men alive. Vlad, ever the brooding preacher, recruited fellow bloodsuckers and turned them into monks with fangs.

Bella was still young—barely out of whatever counted as vampire adolescence. So yes, she indulged. Yes, she spilled blood. But never sentient blood. Never people. Which meant… she hunted predators. Tortured them, even. All while keeping herself in check in close, almost intimate proximity.

And through it all, while burdened with the kind of sensory perception that could read souls like open books, their reaction to him—to his mess of a mind—was to help. Because it was a mental pain. And that was their specialty.

So now Aroche was left with one more thing to be irritated about: himself.

Not only was he this broken husk of his former self, leaking strength and sanity like a faulty faucet, he was broadcasting it. Like some tragic radio frequency, soaking into everyone unfortunate enough to be near.

Vlad? He was roped in by his innate specialty. Literally. He didn’t get a vote. And Bella was in this mess because she’d chugged a love potion with him.

And let’s not forget the pièce de résistance: their eyes. Still pink. Still cartoonishly heart-shaped. Not even Tristan and Yvolt had love potion symptoms this stubborn.

No fluctuations. No fading. Just him and Bella, stuck in some eternal sense sharing they hadn’t yet able to escape.

“Are you going to interrupt me again later when I need to talk to His Majesty?” Aroche asked after some silence.

“I don’t care,” Bella said, her voice a bit hoarse, and Aroche was immediately startled.

He propped up and turned to Bella, not knowing what to do or say. After quite the silence, she suddenly whispered, “You are so in pain and it does hurt. If it was His Majesty, he would do something to fix it. He even ate an evil merfolk monarch and a predator unicorn to fix his Soulnaught Syndrome.”

“Oh, I got compared to now?” Aroche didn’t know why he ran his mouth so carelessly, but he did get a little jealous this time.

“This is why it’s hard to worry about His Majesty. Only you would dare worry about his problems too,” she didn’t turn to him at all.

“Because he’s just that strong? So I can’t worry about him?” Aroche felt like he had to stop speaking right about now, but he couldn’t.

“What about you, then?” Bella said quietly. “His Majesty knows when to let go of his honor and dignity, and a man like him surely knows how to be weak and vulnerable. It is a strength in itself.”

“You surely don’t know him. He’s never like that,” Aroche said sharply, offended that Bella claimed she knew more than him.

“Not in front of you because you also won’t show it to him,” Bella whispered.

Aroche felt like he was struck by lightning.